Shakespeare's First Folio - LightNovelsOnl.com
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Exeunt.
Scena Secunda.
Enter the Queene, Posthumus, and Imogen.
Qu. No, be a.s.sur'd you shall not finde me (Daughter) After the slander of most Step-Mothers, Euill-ey'd vnto you. You're my Prisoner, but Your Gaoler shall deliuer you the keyes That locke vp your restraint. For you Posthumus, So soone as I can win th' offended King, I will be knowne your Aduocate: marry yet The fire of Rage is in him, and 'twere good You lean'd vnto his Sentence, with what patience Your wisedome may informe you
Post. 'Please your Highnesse, I will from hence to day
Qu. You know the perill: Ile fetch a turne about the Garden, pittying The pangs of barr'd Affections, though the King Hath charg'd you should not speake together.
Exit
Imo. O dissembling Curtesie! How fine this Tyrant Can tickle where she wounds? My deerest Husband, I something feare my Fathers wrath, but nothing (Alwayes reseru'd my holy duty) what His rage can do on me. You must be gone, And I shall heere abide the hourely shot Of angry eyes: not comforted to liue, But that there is this Iewell in the world, That I may see againe
Post. My Queene, my Mistris: O Lady, weepe no more, least I giue cause To be suspected of more tendernesse Then doth become a man. I will remaine The loyall'st husband, that did ere plight troth.
My residence in Rome, at one Filorio's, Who, to my Father was a Friend, to me Knowne but by Letter; thither write (my Queene) And with mine eyes, Ile drinke the words you send, Though Inke be made of Gall.
Enter Queene.
Qu. Be briefe, I pray you: If the King come, I shall incurre, I know not How much of his displeasure: yet Ile moue him To walke this way: I neuer do him wrong, But he do's buy my Iniuries, to be Friends: Payes deere for my offences
Post. Should we be taking leaue As long a terme as yet we haue to liue, The loathnesse to depart, would grow: Adieu
Imo. Nay, stay a little: Were you but riding forth to ayre your selfe, Such parting were too petty. Looke heere (Loue) This Diamond was my Mothers; take it (Heart) But keepe it till you woo another Wife, When Imogen is dead
Post. How, how? Another?
You gentle G.o.ds, giue me but this I haue, And seare vp my embracements from a next, With bonds of death. Remaine, remaine thou heere, While sense can keepe it on: And sweetest, fairest, As I (my poore selfe) did exchange for you To your so infinite losse; so in our trifles I still winne of you. For my sake weare this, It is a Manacle of Loue, Ile place it Vpon this fayrest Prisoner
Imo. O the G.o.ds!
When shall we see againe?
Enter Cymbeline, and Lords.
Post. Alacke, the King
Cym. Thou basest thing, auoyd hence, from my sight: If after this command thou fraught the Court With thy vnworthinesse, thou dyest. Away, Thou'rt poyson to my blood
Post. The G.o.ds protect you, And blesse the good Remainders of the Court: I am gone
Imo. There cannot be a pinch in death More sharpe then this is
Cym. O disloyall thing, That should'st repayre my youth, thou heap'st A yeares age on mee
Imo. I beseech you Sir, Harme not your selfe with your vexation, I am senselesse of your Wrath; a Touch more rare Subdues all pangs, all feares
Cym. Past Grace? Obedience?
Imo. Past hope, and in dispaire, that way past Grace
Cym. That might'st haue had The sole Sonne of my Queene
Imo. O blessed, that I might not: I chose an Eagle, And did auoyd a Puttocke
Cym. Thou took'st a Begger, would'st haue made my Throne, a Seate for basenesse
Imo. No, I rather added a l.u.s.tre to it
Cym. O thou vilde one!
Imo. Sir, It is your fault that I haue lou'd Posthumus: You bred him as my Play-fellow, and he is A man, worth any woman: Ouer-buyes mee Almost the summe he payes
Cym. What? art thou mad?
Imo. Almost Sir: Heauen restore me: would I were A Neat-heards Daughter, and my Leonatus Our Neighbour-Shepheards Sonne.
Enter Queene.
Cym. Thou foolish thing; They were againe together: you haue done Not after our command. Away with her, And pen her vp
Qu. Beseech your patience: Peace Deere Lady daughter, peace. Sweet Soueraigne, Leaue vs to our selues, and make your self some comfort Out of your best aduice
Cym. Nay, let her languish A drop of blood a day, and being aged Dye of this Folly.
Enter.
Enter Pisanio.
Qu. Fye, you must giue way: Heere is your Seruant. How now Sir? What newes?
Pisa. My Lord your Sonne, drew on my Master
Qu. Hah?
No harme I trust is done?
Pisa. There might haue beene, But that my Master rather plaid, then fought, And had no helpe of Anger: they were parted By Gentlemen, at hand
Qu. I am very glad on't
Imo. Your Son's my Fathers friend, he takes his part To draw vpon an Exile. O braue Sir, I would they were in Affricke both together, My selfe by with a Needle, that I might p.r.i.c.ke The goer backe. Why came you from your Master?
Pisa. On his command: he would not suffer mee To bring him to the Hauen: left these Notes Of what commands I should be subiect too, When't pleas'd you to employ me
Qu. This hath beene Your faithfull Seruant: I dare lay mine Honour He will remaine so
Pisa. I humbly thanke your Highnesse
Qu. Pray walke a-while
Imo. About some halfe houre hence, Pray you speake with me; You shall (at least) go see my Lord aboord.
For this time leaue me.
Exeunt.
Scena Tertia.
Enter Clotten, and two Lords.
